Meeting and introducing myself to new people is always a struggle. I’m not really a people person, I’m rather shy and, more days than not, I have a bad disposition. But now, as the age of 40 is not on the far horizon anymore, I can say I’m not as bad as I used to be. I can ever stretch it to enjoying meeting new people. Of course, those new people I come to meet have passed my husband’s first approval, and I’m more inclined to know them.
Still, the moment inevitably comes when they ask the question. Defining and unavoidable. And with the potential of crushing an Author’s ever-fragile self-esteem.
“What do you do for a living?”
What happens next can make or break a writer’s night (and the next few days, the time it takes to snap out of it).
To be clear, this is not a post about how an Author survives it. It’s a half-serious guide on “How to Kill an Author in 7 Questions.” The hope behind it is that nobody asks these anymore (yeah, right).
Oh, and BTW, some of the following apply to Romance Readers as well! Who’s never hidden a romance book because she/he didn’t want to get caught with it? Or lied and said she/he read only Chaucer and Hemingway?
So, here it is.
– Are you making any money?
Sure, a truckload. Artists of any kind are known for how much money they make. Why it hurts: Because we’re not making money, man. At least, not enough to survive with it. So we have other jobs to keep us physically alive, while something inside us dies because we can’t give our art all we’ve got. Thank you for reminding me, asshat.
– Aw, that is so sweet.
Is it? Really? I think making pink cupcakes with a rainbow frosting and a glittery top is sweeter, but whatever. Why it hurts: because there’s nothing sweet in doing it. There are blood and pain (not literally, but it just as bad) and tears. And the tone in which is usually said implies that it’s a very nice thing we like to do when we have time to spare. You know, between farting glitter and sweating honey. Because it’s so sweet.
– Nice, but what is your job?
At that, I usually retreat into A) making up a profession – don’t use this strategy if you know you have to see this person again. B) I say I’m a homemaker – don’t use this option if you have already guessed you’re talking with a stupid snob who thinks only a job outside from the house deserves recognition. C) Go with the truth, which is also why it hurts Why it hurts: Because it is our job. Even if it’s not what we exclusively do for an actual living, it still feels like our job. The most important one, as far as jobs go, and one worthy of being taken seriously.
– Nice, your husband must be happy.
The implication here is that because I write romance, and romance has sex in it (as life does), then I’m either an insatiable beast under the sheets, one that knows every little bit of the Kamasutra, or a famished maid (in the sense that I don’t get any, despite being married and all)
– Oh, you write Romance.
I do. Why it hurts: Because the genre is always, and has always been, seen as a second-class genre. Never mind all the research that often goes into it (I’m looking at Historical, but also suspense and pretty much all of them). The effort. Never mind the message of empowered women and smart, good men. It’s still not literature. It’s still not serious enough.
I hope this will help some! Is any of those situations happened to you, either as a Romance Reader or Writer? How did you react?
Thank you all for reading, and I look forward to hearing your stories about it.
His Midnight Sun
Tormented, fierce, and broken, sculptor Aidan Murphy has judged himself guilty. He yearns for love but pushes everyone away. He longs for acceptance but has lost the key to open his heart. Until he meets Summer Williams. Beautiful and smart, Dr. Williams promises haven for a man who believes he deserves none. All he has to do is let her in and risk his heart and soul.
Summer’s managed to keep her inner light alive, even through tragedy. She’s created a new life for herself and her daughter in Crescent Creek with loving, caring and fun friends–well, except brooding, breathtaking Aidan. She’s used to keeping away from his type, though. All she has to do is ignore the pull of a man who’s turning up to be much more than snarls and storms. Will her compassion and medical instincts let her?
Love can heal a broken soul and shake up a timid heart. Or it can unleash devastation and revenge.
Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her husband and her son, her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her boy, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.
It’s too early in the morning for me to be getting the giggles, but I just re-read my title. Don’t get it? Say it out loud now. LOL! Get it? Okay, I’m over it. Or maybe I’ll wait until I have this little bit written then I’ll go back and laugh again.
I’m still finishing up Hook. But it’s coming very, very soon (October 16th!). I’m sharing a snippet from the opening. I love my bounty hunter openings. I always try to introduce the heroes as they’re right in the middle of the action, taking some skip down. Hope you enjoy meeting Hook!
Hook
Former Army Ranger, Dylan “Hook” Hoecker, has a new job along with a new prosthetic arm. Being a bounty hunter is the closest career field he could find as a civilian that gives him the adrenaline rush that is his addiction. So, when his first solo assignment is to keep an eye on a flight risk the boss bonded out of jail, he’s not thrilled. However, he soon discovers a fresh addiction—one mouthy, nerdy redhead, who resists his attempts to keep her out of trouble.
Felicity Gronkowski is grateful for the bone the head of Montana Bounty Hunters threw her. She didn’t have the money to pay for bail, but he has a soft spot for former soldiers, and she bartered to install a new computer system in his satellite office in Bear Lodge. Being on the outside of jail was her first imperative because she has to figure out who framed her for a series of high-end robberies while she worked installing home security systems. However, her bounty-hunting babysitter isn’t giving her any slack. Every time she thinks she’s given him the slip, he’s one step ahead of her. Either she must find the perfect method of distraction to escape him or she has to enlist his help.
Dylan “Hook” Hoecker had no problem keeping pace with Dagger and Cochise as they raced along the dark alleyway, following the skip they’d tracked to a gun shop in Libby. Scooter James had made the crew the moment Dagger entered the premise. Perhaps it was Dagger’s burly physique that had tipped him off, or maybe he was just nervous having three intense-looking dudes enter the store, but he’d run for the back exit.
No, Hook’s legs had never been an issue. He ran like the wind, easily leaping over a barrel Scooter dumped on its side, hoping to trip them. Beside him, Dagger cursed, and Hook couldn’t help smiling as the big guy went down. This skip was his. When he reached the end of the alley, Scooter veered left and ran through a stand of motorcycles, tipping over one, which sent the rest slowly falling like dominoes. Bikers sitting at outdoor café tables nearby rose and filled the street, shouting and moving toward their Harleys, forcing Cochise and Hook to push past them.
Cochise went down when one biker stuck out a foot, perhaps angry that their chase had scratched his ride.
Hook waved his prosthetic arm, which, sometimes, had even those who weren’t so tight with the law pausing and giving him a break. He didn’t mind one bit using his disability to give him an advantage. He shouted out a “Thanks, man,” when one biker rolled his bike forward to clear his path.
Now, it was just him following the slap of Scooter’s Adidas on the pavement. Hook paced himself, forcing himself to keep his breathing even so he’d outlast his target. He didn’t use every bit of his strength to close the gap, because he knew he’d need anything extra to take the fucker down once he began to slow.
In his mind, Hook thanked his physical therapist, who’d concentrated on helping him make the adjustment to his new circumstance, learning to use his prosthetic, but who also continued to meet him on the track three or four mornings a week to make sure he worked out the rest of his body to help, not only keep him toned for the work he did, but to keep his dark moods at bay. Raydeen Pickering was a hero in his mind, because she went the extra mile for every man and woman she accepted into her treatment program.
Ahead of him, Scooter ducked into another alley.
“He’s turned again,” he said, knowing the others could hear him through the radio in his earpiece. “Left, into an alley.”
“I’m behind you,” Cochise said. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”
“I’m cutting through another alley. Will try to get to the street before he does,” Dagger said in his ear.
Hook went left and entered an alley lit by a single golden bulb at the back door of a restaurant. He ran past rank-smelling trash bins and plastic bags but didn’t see his mark ahead. “Don’t see him,” he said, and then slowed and turned.
Something dark swung at his head, and he held up his right arm to deflect the blow from a two-by-four from a pallet, no doubt. But the board hit plastic and metal and bounced off. Hook swung under it with his left, catching Scooter in the chin. Their target dropped like a sack of rocks across a row of trash bags lined up on the dirty, smelly pavement.
Hook stood over Scooter, shaking his left hand because it hurt like hell. Then he noted that his prosthetic dangled kind of funny. He tried to open and close the claw, but apparently, Scooter’s blow had damaged the cable. “Fuck,” he said, and gave Scooter a light kick in the side. “Bastard.”
The sounds of two individuals converging on him from different directions forced him to contain his anger and tuck his prosthetic against his body to hide the damage. The last thing he ever wanted to have happen was for one of these guys to think he was less capable of mixing it up. For the most part, he thought of his arm as an advantage in a fight. Metal hit harder than flesh and bone, and, generally, it could sustain a punch much better, too.
Thankfully, he kept a spare in his vehicle. He just had to get there. But first things first.
Scooter moaned from the ground as Cochise then Dagger came to a halt beside him and stared downward.
“Like we tried to tell you before you ran like a scared rabbit,” Hook said to Scooter, “we’re fugitive recovery agents, and we’re taking you to jail.”
Scooter pushed up on an elbow. “What the hell is that smell?”
Dagger sniffed. “Don’t know, but now I’m hungry. Could be chili.”
“I think it’s stew,” Cochise dead-panned. “Benny’s Eats makes a mean beef stew.”
“Shit, it’s all the way up my shirt,” Scooter said as he sat, rubbing his jaw.
“Well, looks like you’ll have something to snack on during the drive back,” Dagger drawled.
Scooter let out a huff. “Goddamn. My car, man. I left it at the gun shop.”
“You’ll just have to pick it up from impound,” Dagger said, “if the judge is stupid enough to let someone bond you out again.”
Hook reached down his left hand to help Scooter to his feet.
Scooter frowned. “Damn, you wearing armor on your arm? My teeth about rattled out of my head when I hit you.” Then he glanced at Hook’s metal claw. “Well, shit. That explains a lot.”
Hook reached for his handcuffs from the pocket on the back of his web belt. When he pulled them forward, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to cuff him, not one-handed.
Cochise held out his hand. “Let me do the honors.”
Hook pressed his lips together and handed him his handcuffs. If he’d been on his own, he’d have managed, somehow, but he might have had to put Scooter back on the ground first. He hadn’t quite mastered the single-handed snap using his left hand. Everything was harder to master with his left. Maybe he should ask Raydeen to add handcuffing to the everyday tasks he worked on improving.
Once Cochise had Scooter restrained, he stood back and let Hook grip Scooter’s upper arm to take him back to their vehicles.
The walk back was interminable. They passed the bikers who shot them birds but otherwise stayed pretty mellow. Back at the gun shop, Lacey, Dagger’s partner, gave a wave to the shop owner and sauntered their way. She’d canvassed the businesses in Libby days ago, leaving cards. No doubt the middle-aged owner had been only too eager to snitch, because then she’d grace his shop again. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a pink button-down blouse that she’d knotted at her midriff, Lacey looked like a sweet confection. All that was missing was the powdered sugar.
“Hey there, Scooter,” she said. Then she shook her head and held her nose. “Good Lord, he is not riding in our vehicle.”
Hook grunted. “You can ride with me. I’ll even let you drive.”
Lacey might have looked like a cupcake, but she was one sharp cookie. Her gaze went to the arm he’d tucked close to his body, and she gave him a broad smile. “Dagger, you don’t mind if I ride with Hook, do you? I’ve never had the chance to talk with him alone.”
Dagger narrowed his eyes.
Lacey gave him a blinding smile. “See you back in Bear Lodge! Only you’ll be way later than us,” she said, then held her nose again and gave him a wink.
Cochise chuckled. “Come on, Scooter. You’ve got a new date with a judge. Bet if you sweet talk your jailers, they’ll let you have a shower before they put you in your cell.”
It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of visiting with you. First, a major thank you to Delilah for hosting me again. I owe her an even bigger thanks for taking time, nearly six years ago, to guide a new writer down the path of knowledge and skill. I stayed the course and have 16 novels, 4 novellas, and 7 short stories to show for it. Thank you for being an great mentor and friend.
My latest and (IMHO) greatest novel is WHO! Get a load of this cover.
And that’s not the best part!
It’s an homage to one of my favorite shows, Sex & The City, and my favorite genres, thrillers and romance. There is a central group of strong, successful women who are fierce friends at the heart of the story. I’ve wanted to write this novel for the last three years, but other projects kept me away from it. But lookout world! The story is written! And it’s the book I’m the most proud of out of all the others. Shhh, don’t tell them. 😉
“Why were you on the roof the other night?” she tried.
He simply stood and watched her.
“How’d you get up there?”
“You said a lock wouldn’t stop me.”
“Fine. Fine. You won’t come in. You won’t let me dry your clothes. You won’t answer my questions.” Larkin yanked off her coat, glad for the working thermostat. At least he wouldn’t freeze for as long as she could keep him inside. She sidestepped him and hooked her coat on the rack. If she was going to get this out, she couldn’t look at him. The sight of him all big and fucking sexy as hell muddled her brain. Her feet carried her from one side of the foyer to the other.
“That night on the roof … I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”
When he didn’t protest, she looked at him. His gaze followed her, calculating her again and again like a high-functioning computer. Reading and reading and not asking a single question.
“I know it looked that way. I know, now, why you acted the way you did, but it scared me. No one is ever up on the roof. It’s my place to get away from … everything. I hadn’t been up there in a while. Too long. Things were pressing in on me. Work. My …” Why was she blabbing so much to him? He didn’t give a shit. He was probably worried about where his next meal would come from. What did he care about her problems? Which really weren’t problems at all in the grand scheme of the world. People lived not knowing where their next meal was coming from. People lived without proper clothing. Without proper shelter.
Beckett didn’t look homeless. He wasn’t malnourished in any way. His clothes were used but clean and well maintained. The scruff on his face wasn’t more than three days growth.
“Your … boyfriend?”
She stopped pacing and found his gaze. “I don’t have those. They’re … messy.”
“Husband?”
Her face crinkled. “Even worse.”
“Finally, someone who understands.”
“So many people don’t.” She nodded and walked, studying the intricacies of the woodwork and the fibers of the entry’s rug.
“They’re needy.”
“And you don’t need much, do you?” She stole a quick glance at him. His head shook.
“So who was it that night?”
Her gaze dropped to the ring on her finger. “My family.”
His fingers came into view. They grazed the thick band and large stone.
“It was my mother’s.” She hated the words as soon as they were out.
“Why are you mad at a dead woman?”
Her gaze flashed to his. He stood over her, eyes warmer than before. She hadn’t said a word about the rage that boiled inside her bones for her mother, but he was smart. Smart enough to add her action that night and her words tonight and ask the one question she wouldn’t answer.
Larkin’s head shook, jarring loose the tear she’d been fighting back.
“Seems we both have our boundaries.” His thumb wiped the tear from her cheek, dragged it down her face, and smoothed it over her lips. They parted for him. He took his time tracing the high arch. The salt from his fingertip bled into her mouth as the pad dragged over her lower lip and pulled it wide. “Unlock the door and tell me to leave.”
“No.” Her tongue slid along the path with his finger. “You ran away from me Saturday. I’m not going to let you do that tonight.”
“It’s what I should do.” His thumb left her lip and joined the rest of his fingers at the side of her neck. He tilted her face up. “Tell me to stop.” His face, scarred and angry, neared hers, open and intent.
Not a sound passed through her lips. She grabbed his jacket, only inches from his hand, and tugged. His hold broke. The cold exterior chilled her fingertips. The weight of it forced her muscles into action but not for long. She dropped the thing on the ground behind her, toward the wall and away from the door. Her gaze never left his. His gave nothing away.
He was too tall for her to lift up onto her tiptoes and press her lips to his, and he didn’t move from his battle-ready posture. She could climb him like a tree, but if this was going to work, he would have to give … just a little.
Toe to toe, she studied him as blatantly as he did her. A healthy pulse swelled the veins of his thick neck. His gaze narrowed and cooled as though begging her to lose interest. Not a chance. Every inch of him intrigued her. Even the ugly scar that hid in the shadow of the foyer. She reached up slowly. His head shifted higher into the stratosphere of her entryway.
“Don’t tell me a big guy like you is scared.”
His jaw worked back and forth. “Cautious.”
“I won’t hurt you. Don’t think I could if I tried, but I won’t.”
His head lowered.
Larkin grabbed his chin. It barely fit in her hand. The short hairs pricked her fingers. She turned his face to the left and held her breath. Webbed and raised skin slightly darker than the rest of his face gleamed with a waxy smooth finish in the lamplight. Its dips and rises spread wide from a point just below his eye to encompass the hinge of his jaw and a two-inch swath of his cheek. It was fully healed but not an old scar. Her fingers slid up the side of his face. She mapped the ridges of scarred and unmarred skin alike.
He moved under her touch, not visibly, but energy hummed under her fingertips. She dragged her touch down over his scar, his neck, and gripped the collar of his shirt with both hands. Cool water seeped from the fabric, running through her fingers.
Hunger flashed in his eyes.
She pulled his face down. Her heart beat against her chest, urging her to take his mouth, but determination made her wait. He had to give. Saliva pooled. Her breasts ached. Oxygen, so skittish before, heaved in and out of her lungs as though she was chasing him down the street again. If he broke down her door and ran away, she’d chase him again. This wasn’t like her. She took what she wanted. Men gave it freely. But this man just looked at her.
*****
Who is a 410-page beast of a first-in-series novel released October 2nd. It’s regular $6.99, but is on sale for the next two weeks for $4.99!
Down to business. What is the thing in life you are most proud of? Answer the question in the comments below for a chance to win a signed copy of Never Mine.
All the best,
Megan
—
Megan Mitcham
USA Today Bestselling Author
Sizzling Suspense – Are you sizzling yet? www.meganmitcham.com
Their marriage was supposed to be a business transaction. Only love wasn’t factored into the contract. And he never expected he would fall in love with his husband.
One of my favorite tropes is the marriage/relationship in trouble. I like to see people/characters fighting for their relationships and the love they share. Struggling with life circumstances but working their way back to each other. I think that is because I am a character-driven writer.
Characters come to me first.
The Marriage Contract started as a completely different story. But the characters would not cooperate. Over the years, I’ve learned not to argue with my characters.
It’s useless. So I let them guide the story. And more often than not, turns into a better story than I originally planned.
Grant Thornton and Tristan Castillo are the heroes of the story. And as far as characters go, Grant was more stubborn than Tristan. Tristan was just dark, broody and scared. And one night as I was watching television, Tristan popped into my head and this version of the story was born.
Then I started peeling back the layers. I looked at the character histories, their flaws and baggage and use that to plot the scenes and develop the story.
And then the puppies got involved. Not one puppy but two.
The Marriage Contract is about to flawed, vulnerable men who are afraid to take a chance on love. But also afraid not to try to love.
Thanks to Delilah for having me on her blog. As a bonus, here’s the reveal of the new cover for The Marriage Contract.
Tristan Castillo wants to make his marriage work, but there’s one problem— his husband. Not only is Tristan coming home, he’s bringing a surprise, a puppy named Apollo. But when he arrives home, he gets a surprise of his own. Grant adopted a dog too. And when he hears Grant named his puppy, Zeus, he figures it for a sign that they are meant to be together.
Tech mogul and closet jazz musician, Grant Thornton needed a husband to get past the codicil in his grandfather’s will. It was supposed to be a simple business transaction. Only love wasn’t part of the bargain and Grant doesn’t know if he loves Tristan or the things he does to his body.
As a former Marine and Michigan State Trooper turned chocolatier, Tristan is used to going after and fighting for what he wants. Sure, love wasn’t in the contract but it’s not something you can put a value on either. He came back to win his husband and he’s going to pull out all the stops to get Grant to open up to the possibility of love and a happily ever after with him.
With the help of Zeus and Apollo, Tristan and Grant start their journey towards forever. But old demons and old habits threaten to keep this union a true marriage of convenience.
What does a coffee CEO and reggae bandleader have in common with a cup of coffee?
-Hot
-Strong
-Keeps you awake all night
-Great to wake up to
When I planted the seeds of romance for Latasha, the heroine’s best friend in Jamaican Temptation, I didn’t know which man she’d actually get with in the next book. Fast forward to the day I sat down to write this book, and I still couldn’t decide. She demanded BOTH men. I’ve learned never argue with the characters, so here is her fantasy…
Having grown up in foster care, Latasha looks forward to a stable happily-ever-after with K.C., her Jamaican boyfriend. But his band, Caribbean Climax, is flat broke. When Jonathan Lance, CEO of Third Mountain Coffee, propositions her for one paid night of ecstasy, she does it for her and K.C.’s future.
Jonathan has admired Latasha from afar since the day he met her, but his company comes first. His father, who controls part of it, would never approve of an interracial relationship. After the business transaction, however, emotional ties remain, and Latasha is torn between two men who differ in every way.
And when the unthinkable happens, will her choice be easier—or impossible?
K.C. planted a proprietary hand against the small of her back as they stood in front of him. “You the one paying,” he told Jonathan. “What you want us to do?”
“Kiss her.”
Every nerve ending in Latasha’s body sizzled as K.C.’s dark, sensual lips lowered to hers. Knowing the other man observed them made everything feel twice as erotic. The stiff hairs of her boyfriend’s moustache scraped her upper lip. Jonathan had a slight one as well. Would it feel similar?
She rested her hands on K.C.’s shoulders when he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Her nipples hardened against the thin material of the dress, making her wish she’d worn a different one, with a bra.
Gentle but persistent, his lips claimed every bit of her mouth. He hadn’t kissed her so thoroughly in a long time. She guessed he wanted to give Jonathan a good show so he could get his money’s worth. Or maybe he wanted to prove no one could pleasure her as well as he could.
Whatever his reasons, she’d enjoy the ride. This wasn’t so bad. She could think of tougher ways to earn money.
When he finished, her fingers were interlaced in his braids, practically supporting her weight because she’d gone boneless. His tongue had also gone so deep she ached to taste the rest of him.
Encircling her waist, K.C. turned toward Jonathan. “Dat suit you all right, mon?”
“Perfect.” Had the other man’s eyes grown bluer since she’d last glanced at him?
“What next?” K.C. asked.
“Take off her dress. Slowly.”
Oh crap. Things just got difficult. A deep, insistent ache filled her cunt as K.C. stood behind her, giving Jonathan a full frontal view. She shivered as her man slid one thin strap off her shoulder, then the other, and unfastened several buttons.
The tight dress clung to her hips, which luckily kept it from falling straight to the floor. But her exposed breasts pebbled with gooseflesh. The nipples, already erect, swelled into large peaks.
She didn’t even have to look because she saw her nudity mirrored in Jonathan’s eyes. Her flesh burned, feeling raw and exposed. When K.C.’s hands slid down her sides, to push the rest of the dress past her hips, she covered half her face with a palm and clapped the other across one of her breasts.
“God, your tits are so full and beautiful,” Jonathan breathed. “I knew they would be.”
She stepped out of her sandals to steady herself, but the deep beige carpet caressed her bare feet, making her feel more erotic.
“Wait! I don’t know if I can do this.”
What was wrong with her? She had to earn that check and help K.C. keep his band. Convincing him to do this shenanigan had been harder than herding elephants. It was too late to chicken out.
Both men waited, silent, as they watched her.
After taking a shaky breath, she fanned her flushed face and nodded. “Sorry. I’m okay, now.”
“You sure?” K.C. asked.
“Take your time, sweetheart,” Jonathan said. “We have all night.”
Hi, Delilah. I’m happy to be with you today as we ease (hopefully) into fall.
Well, if I ever doubted Climate Change and Global Warming, which I never did, this summer proved that our Earth is going through some troubling times. The Rim of Fire in the Pacific is working overtime. The glaciers are melting at a shocking pace giving us an actual Northwest Passage. The super volcano at Yellowstone is starting to worry me. And here in Maine we had the summer from hell.
It started slow with a snowstorm in mid-April (the morning of my birthday on the 20th actually, what a birthday present), cold weather for our annual International Marathon in late June, and then finally in July the 80 degree temps set in and lasted for two months. Normally we get a couple of days of 80 degrees in late August early September, but this year was a scorcher. It was made worse by the fact that most homes and business in Downeast Maine don’t have air-conditioning. In fact, last night I was considering going out to my car and turning on the A/C and sleeping in the back seat!
I was so looking forward to a bumper crop of raspberries and blackberries. Spring was glorious with their blossoms. But it was so hot that most of the berries scorched on the vine. Just shriveled up like raisins.
The heat has been especially bad on our wildlife. I’ve seen no deer or moose, just some signs of coyotes and a bunny that has stayed with us visiting every morning and evening when the temps are a little cooler. I haven’t seen a single hummingbird and normally they are numerous. But a bird built a nest in the top of my propane tank and laid some eggs. One is still there, unhatched. I think it got too hot before the poor thing was ready.
But some good things came out of this strange weather. My yard turned into crispy weeds instead of lush rye grass, so a saving on my landscaping expenses. The bugs were scarce until just the last week or so because we had an almost rain-free season. Then last week the mosquitoes, and we have huge ones up here, realized that if they didn’t get busy and start biting, their summer would be wasted.
Now the weather is turning. Today the high is 63 degrees and I saw a flock of Canadian Geese beginning their yearly migration south this morning. And with the cooler temperatures, all my apples (I have many trees, wild ones) will be ripening. I’m madly searching for a recipe for crabapple jelly now. And I have several trees near my house with apples the size of cranberries. I wonder how I prepare those?
However, now that it’s autumn (almost) I’m anticipating my most productive time of the year. I’ve just received the edits from my editor for my next book, The Russian Phoenix, the prequel to the last book in my High Tide Suspense series, Precious Stone. It’s what I call a fictional memoir—the story of a young Russian girl, her turbulent life in the 20th century including the Romanov Jubilee year of 1913, and her life adapting to the changes that threaten to overcome her during the rest of the century. It will be published in just a few weeks.
I’ve also started research on my next series, Wolf Moon. I’m very excited about that. I get to use my bachelor’s degree in anthropology! The first book, and I don’t have a title yet, is about a Shoshone girl, Glory, from the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. The series begins in 1949 and each of the books in the series uses as the protagonist, one of the sons-daughters on the family tree of Glory Grey Wolf. There’s some mysticism, some politics, some adventure! Visit my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/AuthorMinEdwards where I’ll keep you up-to-date with my progress.
Have a perfect Autumn!
Min
Min’s Books
A gift of thanks to a young girl from the Tsar more than 100 years ago… and now the Russians want it back.
Collee McCullough, the owner of The Bakery in Stone Bay, Maine, has a perfect life until early one morning men in suits come calling. She has something someone dangerous wants. Something that her Russian great-grandmother Natasha took when she fled Russia in 1913. Too bad great-gran never told her family what she had or where she left it.
Jake Elsmore, visiting Stone Bay to sell his mother’s house, walks into The Bakery for a cup of Earl Grey tea, but gets more. There she is. A sprite in a flour-dusted apron, stepping out from behind a big burly policeman; a lovely, fiery-haired fairy toting a shotgun while two men are laying insensate on the floor of her shop. Looks like that tea will have to wait.
Russia: 1913. A time of celebration; a time of turmoil for Russia. But for Natasha it’s a time of horror.
Natasha, a young cousin of Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova, the Empress Consort of all the Russias, is eighteen and living a life she never dreamed. The year is 1913, the 300th Jubilee Year of the Romanov rule and it has been filled with fêtes, balls, and excitement.
But the night of the last ball of the season a burgeoning love affair goes horribly wrong and she’s kidnapped and whisked out of Russia. Her adventures change her life in ways she could never imagine and take her far from home. But her travails forge her into a strong, resourceful woman of the new century.
Look for this, coming soon!
*~*~*
About the Author
Min Edwards is the pen name of archaeologist, former bookstore owner, and eBook designer (A Thirsty Mind Book Design), Pam Headrick. She is a life-long Texas girl who on a whim decided to leave the heat of Central Texas and move to her property on the coast of Maine. What was she thinking? Now Lubec, the most eastern town in the USA is her home. She writes from a desk near her kitchen window in an almost 200-year-old farmhouse overlooking apple trees, mating pheasants, rabbits which turn from brown to white in the winter, and the occasional moose. Just down the road is her private beach which is unfortunately not sand but shingle… small stones which have been tumbled by the surf for eons. And they sing when the 30-foot tides of the area wash over them. Her muse and constant companion is Zach, a 12-year-old black German Shepherd who offers comedic relief when she needs it… like when one of her characters is not following orders or a plot has imploded and it looks like it’s time to start over.
Series: Romancing the Seas Book 1 Genre: Contemporary Romance, Erotic Romance, Romantic Comedy, Holiday Romance Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Publication Date: September 11, 2018
When Piper’s job sends her undercover to spy on Jack – the beyond sexy hook-up she can’t stop thinking about – she is forced to decide if her job is more important than her happiness.
HAPPINESS HAS A PRICE
Captain Jack Spencer owns and runs a whale watching company, Ahoy, Matey. When his business takes off, a jealous rival wants him and his company gone. Jack has no idea the delectable Piper Goldhirsch is tasked with scuttling everything he’s worked for – he’s too caught up in their magnetic attraction and her web of lies.
Piper Goldhirsch, head reporter for the tabloid TV show Business Buster, is all work and no play. When she and the all too tempting Jack Spencer have a one-night stand that turns out to be the greatest sex of her life, she is haunted by the powerful magic between them. Sent undercover to expose his whale watching business, she is torn between her assignment and the first man she has ever wanted. With her happiness on the line, Piper has only one choice.
She lifted her bare foot. He held her ankle with more delicacy than she’d expected from such a big man. As he slid the flat back onto her foot, his thumb grazed the indent near her anklebone. She shivered at the sensation. This close, the ocean blue of his eyes shone with intensity as he watched her. What did he look like beneath the costume and makeup? She’d noticed his sexy, crooked smile and the roguish way the corner of his mouth lifted up, as if he knew something she didn’t. His fingers wrapped around the back of her ankle, then stopped. She met his hungry eyes and nudged her leg forward into his hand. His fingers slid up an inch further, moving in a slow, barely there caress.
“I realize it’s none of my business,” he said. “But earlier, out in the ballroom…I don’t know what your friends said or did to make you upset, but if I can help at all, I’d like to.”
“I’m okay. Just shaking something off.” She took a sip from the wine bottle as she watched him. She moved her foot closer to his chest urging his hand closer to her calf. His long fingers stroked her flesh.
She closed her eyes. “Mmm, that feels nice. Don’t worry about what they said. You got a name, pirate?”
“Jack.”
His tone was serious. She looked back down at him and smirked. Two could play that game.
“Oh, of course. You’re Captain Jack, and I’m Little Red Riding Hood. C’mere.” He stood and met her eye to eye. At five feet nine, she often had a vantage point in height in the workplace, which served her well when she wanted to be intimidating, but he had well over four inches on her, easy. His big, muscular frame towered over her. She took another sip of wine and walked her fingers up the buttons of his waistcoat. “Can I level with you, Captain Jack?”
“Yes.”
She pushed aside the question of why she felt so at ease with him when all she’d wanted was to be alone and smoothed her palm over his white pirate shirt, his strong pectoral muscles firm beneath her fingers. When she next spoke, her voice broke as she remembered why she’d sought solace in the first place; she’d gotten a man and his whole family deported.
“See, I’ve had a hell of a hard year. I’ve pushed myself and made magic happen in ways I didn’t think I’d ever be able to, but that magic comes at a price, and I’m not okay with it. Every single day, people want a piece of me. And on normal days, I can handle it. But right now, all I want to do, since you’re here,” she moved closer, her lips inches from his, “and I’m here, is to forget it all and make some magic of our own I can hold onto, even if it’s just this little moment.”
His chest rose and fell as he scanned her. Clarity and kindness were evident in his eyes beneath the desire, and she knew she could have a little fun with him. She noticed that his palms clenched the more she rubbed against him. She smirked, grabbed the lapels of his waistcoat, and crashed her lips onto his.
THE WOMAN WAS unreal. Her thick, pouty lips moved against his, and no sooner had she kissed him full on the mouth than he seized her around her wasp-sized waist and laid claim. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, and her curves were soft and perfect in his hands. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and she met him eagerly. She tasted like strawberries and wine, and he groaned as his fingers slipped into her curls. It had been forever since he’d kissed a woman. She scored full check marks in every category, and then some.
Chances were she merely wanted a nice make-out session, but his body already demanded more. He wrapped his arms around her, spanned his hand against her back, and traveled down to the curve of her delectable ass. She shivered against him; the movement went straight to his hardened cock. He nipped her lower lip as he squeezed her bottom.
“Oh, you are one big firecracker, aren’t you? Tell me your name.”
She wrapped her ankle around the back of his calf as she hauled him in close. “No names,” she breathed.
He kissed her and moaned when she rubbed her core against him through their clothes. All right, he’d play along. For now. But he would take the lead.
About Roxanne D. Howard
Roxanne D. Howard writes sizzling erotic romance with Boroughs Publishing Group and The Wild Rose Press. She is a U.S. Army veteran, and a Columbia College alumni. She loves to read poetry, classical literature, and Stephen King. Also, she is an avid Star Wars fan, musical theater nut, and marine biology geek. Roxanne resides in the western U.S., and when she’s not writing, she enjoys spending quality time with her husband, children, and furry companions. Roxanne loves to hear from her readers, and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.
